I just made one of the most horrible mistakes you can make: I got free-sample perfume on my fingers. I knew I wouldn't want it, but it was a gift with purchase, and as I fumbled the bottle open for a sniff, I got some on my skin. It has soaked into me. It has become one with my person. I've layered my fingers with astringent, nail polish remover, rosemary-scented shaving gel, soap, and garlic, and I can still smell it. It is the smell of Evil.

But I'm otherwise okay and will probably survive and recover. Updates to follow in the coming days.

Today I went to the Seattle bash for the first time in a while; hung with cool fannish people and felt happily social, ate good food, and watched vids from Vividcon. Great stuff--several unexpectedly fab anime vids like Zettai Unmei Anime's "I Wish I Was A Lesbian," and other great ones I hadn't seen before--gwyn_r's "Santa Monica" and "Valentine Heart," melinafandom's and astolat's "The Mountain." Others, but not all shown at the con; I must order the compilation.

It's been a slow week with not much going on, though Thursday I did go see the Modernism exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum. I saw Van Gogh's "Cafe Terrace by Night" up close and personal. I stared at it for several minutes and thought: That needs more red.

Mostly I've been offline for the last several days, watching more movies and reading. I saw the Kill Bill sequel and am still kind of scratching my head. Rewatched A Mighty Wind and Cabin Fever and School of Rock. All good. Saw Dreamcatcher, which is Stephen King on the serious crack--and what kills me is the progression from start to finish, from something approaching serious, normal, and reminiscent, to the whacked-out, WTF?! climax. Dude. There are no words. I wish I could have sat in on a live, packed audience during that toilet sequence. It would have been amusing to watch people walk out.

Also watched 50 First Dates and cried and cried. At an Adam Sandler movie. I am such a girl. The last rental was Taking Lives, some Angelina Jolie serial-killer flick where I guessed the killer the first moment he hit the screen and found the ending pretty ludicrous, but...eh. It had its moments.

I smell my fingers, I smell my fingers, I smell. I vow never to let anything but Chanel No. 5 touch my body again, for as long as I both shall live. I could cut my fingers off of course, but that's a trade of short-term gain for long-term disability, plus it would probably hurt.

I think I will go rub a lemon on myself instead.